


Harry Potter and the Incubus Affair

by KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Harry Potter - Fests & Prompts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, HP: EWE, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pensieves, Playboy Draco Malfoy, Polyamory, Succubi & Incubi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: Shagging the Git-Who-Lived had clearly been, by far, the worst decision of Draco Malfoy's life. Well, almost. Unfortunately for Draco's sanity, it hadn't stopped him doing it again. That very morning in fact. Nor the night after that, nor the night after that. Or any night for the last three weeks. If he wasn't careful, he was going to make a habit of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** [#8](http://hp-creatures.livejournal.com/267482.html?thread=1463002#t1463002)
> 
>  **Creature:** Incubus
> 
>  **Warnings or Content:** Polyamory, Bottom Harry, Implied Switching, Incubus Draco, implied non-con recording of otherwise consensual sexual activity (by way of pensieve), implied potential dub-con, Love Potions.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. 
> 
> **Notes:** Thank you to my last minute beta and the mods for being so understanding of my eternal issues. Also to everyone in the HD writers' chat for the love and support re: above eternal writing issues. This fic isn't as 'creature-y' as probably intended, but it is there. Let's all pretend I was cleverly playing with the expectations of the trope rather than getting carried away by the plot instead - yes? Good, thanks!

Harry's heart rate sped up with the knock on his door, but it had nothing to do with fear. It was a sharp, expectant knock, easily identifiable once you knew who it belonged to, and Harry's body reacted with intimate predictability. There was only one person Harry knew could get through the wards on the garden gate and the Floo, but still chose to turn up at his door, unannounced, at midnight. Only one person who demanded entry like that. Only one person who needed Harry almost as much as Harry needed him. Anticipation worked its way through Harry's skin before he even answered the door.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, Draco Malfoy stood on the doorstep wearing a perfectly tailored muggle suit, in a fetching charcoal grey, and a smirk.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted him as if it wasn't expected.

Draco looked like something straight out of Harry's dreams, with his sleek blond hair, and languorous grace. The sort of dreams Harry had been having for longer than he was willing to admit, the reality was almost too much to bear.

"Potter," Draco said, mimicking Harry's tone. "Going to invite me in, or do you prefer to leave your guests on the front step?"

Draco tasted like burning ice; he kissed like he needed it to breathe, and he screwed like a demon — because he was one. Well, part of him was. Just thinking about it made Harry restless and needy and desperate for more. Desperate to take Malfoy apart and be shattered in return.

He hadn't even got in the door yet, and Harry was already breathing harder that he had any excuse for. Then again, anyone would get a bit hot and bothered if Draco smiled at them like that. That smile was like sex itself, hot demonic glory and silver eyes, sharp features and long graceful limbs. Harry couldn't wait to get his hands on him. Even without all the sex magic, Draco would be damn near irresistible. Who was Harry to say no to that?

Draco smirked slightly more than usual. As if he knew what was going on in Harry's head. Hell, maybe he did. Harry really should have paid more attention to the Dangerous Creatures curriculum, especially if he was going to go around shagging one.

"Um, yeah, come in," Harry said, coming back to himself and covering his distraction. Realising that the sooner the door shut, the sooner he could get his hands on Draco.

He was right.

The moment Harry closed the door, Draco was on him, all semblance of propriety forgotten.

He shoved Harry back to the wall and got his hands under Harry's tee-shirt. He tugged, insistent and expectant. Harry gave in easy, like he always seemed to these days. He still gave as good as he got but sometimes giving in to this felt like its own kind of winning. Draco's hands were soon running down Harry's naked chest, sending shivers of anticipation in their wake. Harry didn't think he would ever get enough of this. Even just this. Touch and taste and warm, smooth hands on his skin.

Draco got his hands on the waist of Harry's pyjama pants and pulled; he dropped to his knees with the movement. Then he smirked up at Harry like sin itself. Before Harry could even fully track the turn of events, Draco swallowed Harry's cock, right there in the entryway. Harry was absently grateful for the fact he lived alone, but the thought didn't hold for long. Nothing could. Not when Draco licked and sucked and pulled at him like that. It was all he could do to lean against the wall and try to hold his balance. Harry tangled his hands in Draco's hair, still half horrified he was even allowed to do this, touch and caress and feel like this. Draco's hair felt just as good in Harry's fingers as he'd always known it would, and his mouth on Harry's cock was even better than he'd dared hope.

Draco was still fully dressed; that shouldn't be so hot either. But it seemed like everything about bloody Malfoy got Harry turned on these days. Maybe it always had. The air felt thick with promise, with hot shimmering magic. Harry thought he might drown in it. He didn't really care. Even if it was the death that stuck, it'd probably be worth it.

Harry could feel himself drawing embarrassingly close to the edge already. His whole body aching and hot, the tension building higher still as Draco moved and licked and kissed him closer and closer still. It was probably the incubus thing. It had to be. No one could be that good at giving head. It couldn't be real; it had to be demon magic at work, because nothing had and nothing ever would feel that good again— except.

He tugged on Draco's hair, just a little sharper than before. Draco got the message and stopped, one eyebrow perfectly arched in question and the usual Malfoy mockery not far from his eyes as he looked up at Harry. His cheeks were flushed an irresistible pink, and his lips were spit slick, it made Harry ache with desire just looking at him. He was wrong; it wasn't the magic that was going to kill him it was this. This lust glazed heat on Malfoy's pale skin and bright eyes. If he kept looking, he was going to come from this alone, and Harry had too much pride for that. Not to mention the sooner he came, the sooner Malfoy might leave. And he really didn't want that, not yet.

"Bed," Harry managed to say through his still catching breath. And then, because he really was cursed with lust, "Please?"

Draco stood. He was so close to Harry that the expensive wool of his still immaculate suit scratched against Harry's flushed and sensitive skin. So close that Harry could smell the sharp lemon and fresh grass scent of him. So close that Harry could feel the heat of him, and burned with it.

"Well, seeing as you asked so nicely," Draco said. He was Malfoy smug and still the sexiest thing Harry had ever seen. He took Harry's wrist and led Harry to his own bedroom. Of course, he knew the way by now, but something about the presumption was sexy too. Something in the way Draco took over space and took control of every situation just made Harry want him even more. If only he knew how to hold on to him after.

* * *

Draco tried and failed to suppress his grin when he slipped out of Potter's townhouse and into the pre-dawn light.

Even though he knew it couldn't last, knew that Potter would get sick of him and everything shagging him entailed, there was something truly satiating about screwing the Saviour. Literally, that is. It wasn't just that seemingly endless reserve of magic Potter seemed to have at his disposal. Although, that helped. No, there was something about Potter himself that made him the best shag Draco had ever had. Something about Potter that got under Draco's skin and scratched the endless itch of hunger like nothing else could. These days, Draco knew a dangerous game when he played one. He just couldn't quite stop. Not yet.

It was all Luna Lovegood's fault, of course.

Before Potter, Draco had been making do with the odd pull at Muggle clubs. So, by the time Luna's birthday bash rolled around, and the night before sodding Valentine's Day no less, Draco was gagging for it. Not literally, of course, that would be quite uncouth, but close enough.

Certainly, Draco had made do for the whole first few years of his demonic heritage with nothing but Muggles. He had come of age during the war. At the time it hadn't been safe for his family to let anyone know what he was — despite the pride they may have taken in declaring such old magic their own once again. It would have been used against them too easily, or used by their own 'side' in ways that even Lucius Malfoy wasn't willing to bow to. Then, after the war, he hadn't exactly found many witches or wizards willing to lower themselves into his clutches. They all thought he'd drain them dry. Even now, when the wizarding world had welcomed him back with open arms, and sometimes more than their arms, it was still difficult. Being an incubus made him untrustworthy, in their world anyway; being an incubus and Death Eater had made it almost impossible.

Then, there was Potter. He'd never had enough sense to be scared of anything, as far as Draco could tell. Draco was, it seemed, no exception to that rule. Which used to drive him to distraction, now it turned out to be working in his favour. Still pretty damn distracting, though. He could still taste Potter's skin on his lips, and Potter's lust still bubbled through Draco's magic. He was utterly perfect, and that in itself was utterly frustrating and quite terrifying.

Inevitably, Draco had been unsurprised to awaken the morning after Luna's party, to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom, with company. Considering the state he had been in the night prior it had been almost unavoidable.

When the company had turned out to be Potter, he had been somewhat more taken aback. Strangely, Potter hadn't been all that surprised. Potter had been propped up on one arm and smirking down at Draco, like a kneazle with a snidget. Draco was almost certain that things ought to be the other way around, if they were going to be anyway around at all. But they hadn't been. Nothing ever had gone to plan for Draco, not when it came to Harry Potter. He'd known what Draco was going into it, and he'd done it anyway.

Shagging the Git-Who-Lived had clearly been, by far, the worst decision Draco had made in a very long time. Unfortunately for Draco's sanity, it hadn't stopped him doing it again. That very morning in fact. Nor the night after that, nor the night after _that_. Or any night for the last three weeks, in fact. If he wasn't careful, he was going to make a habit of it.

Draco knew he was getting in too deep. But he also knew that even if his own instincts didn't kick in soon, Potter's would. There was no way that Potter would keep letting him in. Potter could have anyone he wanted, and even something like Draco would surely get boring soon enough.

Draco ignored the way his chest twisted with that thought. He left Potter sleeping, and made his way for his regular visit with his mother. If he got there early enough then St Mungo's wasn't all that bad, not now he was used to it.

* * *

Potter gasped when Draco got bored of the tease and wrenched his belt free in one sudden motion. The air shimmered, literally, as the tense magic between them built to inexorable levels. Potter shivered, and Draco couldn't help the thrill that rushed through him in response.

"Scared, Potter?"

Draco could feel Potter's reaction to that. It made him quiver with it, but it damn well wasn't fear creeping up Potter's spine.

"You wish, Malfoy."

Draco's demonic empamancy was limited to sex and sensual desire, and he felt every shuddering flicker of Potter's reaction. Potter shut them both up with a full force kiss, and Draco let himself fall into it.

Even Draco knew they shouldn't be doing this here. It was a Ministry function. Potter had been in his formal Deputy Head Auror uniform, before Draco got him mostly out of it, that was. He was on duty, and so was Draco — as much as you could be when your only formal job title was scion and heir.

This was getting dangerous, addictive and tempting, and so damn good that Draco didn't want to stop. They had both silenced and warded the little vestibule, but the risk of getting caught kept them both on edge. If Draco was honest with himself, which he tended to avoid, then it wasn't just the risk keeping him on edge. It was Harry. Not Potter, Harry. Which was so much worse, and so much more dangerous. He did it anyway.

* * *

"An incubus!" Hermione cried, she sounded genuinely scandalised. Harry wasn't as convinced about her apparent prudishness as he used to be, but this seemed like the real deal, even to him. "You shagged an incubus?"

"Am shagging, actually," Harry corrected her and blushed despite himself. "Not right now, obviously. But, you know, um, regularly... I think."

"You must be exhausted." Hermione took a sip of her coffee, but probably only to keep her hands from going for her wand and diagnostic charm. Harry knew her well enough to note the signs. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked, with more sincerity than he deserved.

"I'm fine," Harry said, more honestly this time. He felt good actually. Better than he had at all in the months before Malfoy. He wasn't sure when he started counting his life in relation to interactions with Draco Malfoy, again - he decided it was probably better ignored.

"Well, that's good," Hermione said, she didn't sound like she actually believed him about being fine. "I can't believe you would be so reckless, Harry. Once, sure, we're _all_ curious, but doing it again. Really… he must be giving something back to you, I suppose, if you're really not feeling totally drained. How odd. It's a very selfish form of magic, generally..."

Harry shrugged. He was a Gryffindor, surely he was allowed a bit of recklessness now and then. Especially if it involved getting to touch Draco Malfoy on a semi-regular basis.

"You really must be more careful, Harry," said Hermione as she warmed to her theme. "It is very old magic, there are so few of them these days that no one really knows the limits of their powers. There are a few rumours that… Oh my god," Hermione stopped mid-sentence and her cup clattered a little as it hit her saucer. "It's Malfoy, isn't it?"

"Umm…" said Harry, pretty much instantly confirming her suspicions.

"Harry!" Hermione's scolding tone was even worse than it had been for the original reveal.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable in the face of her disapproval. "He's not as bad as he was," Harry said, even though he wasn't actually sure of that. It wasn't like they actually talked all that much. But Harry had been observing him, had never really stopped actually. And from what Harry saw, even from a distance, Draco really had grown up. A bit, at least. Maybe even learned from his mistakes. Maybe.

"You have to be careful, Harry. He could do you some serious damage if you let him too close."

"I know," Harry admitted. He did know how dangerous this thing with Draco might be, but he didn't think he and Hermione meant the same kind of dangers.

"Good," Hermione said, then surprised Harry by smiling at him over her coffee again. "I must admit he does have a scrumptious arse, doesn't he?"

Harry laughed.

"You have no idea," he agreed, and didn't even mind when she winked at him instead of being shocked.

* * *

It had started in February and in first week of May it all fell apart, the air was getting warmer and the snow was long gone. It must have been something about spring. Something that made Harry a little more reckless and a little more desperate. Or something about the date.

"Stay," Harry said, rolling over and snatching Draco's wrist with a seeker's skill. He hadn't technically been pretending to sleep, but he also knew that Draco would have been under the impression he was. He'd just been waiting for the right moment. This had seemed like it. Draco hadn't slept the night since the first time, and Harry wanted to know why.

Draco was already halfway out of Harry's bed, long pale limbs seeming to glow in the moonlight that filtered through the window. He looked down at Harry with something a little like horror. He shook his head, didn't even have the courtesy to say it aloud.

"Fine," Harry said, instead of please. He wasn't about to beg; he did enough of that when he was caught in the whirlwind of Draco's magic. Harry pulled himself away, letting go of Draco and the vague hope he'd had that, maybe, there was something more than 'feeding' going on between them.

Malfoy was silent as he got dressed; Harry could only hear the sound of fabric moving over his own shallow breathing.

He did pause at the door, and for a moment Harry wondered if he'd change his mind.

He didn't. He said something so soft Harry didn't catch it, then he left.

* * *

Draco kept a well-appointed flat in the magical end of Kensington. Which was just as well because slamming the door with as much vehemence as he did certainly would have woken the neighbors in a non-magical building.

"Mopsy," he snapped. "Brandy, in the south study, now if you please."

The house elf appeared with a bow and disappeared just as quick as soon as she had the order.

The brandy was waiting for him when he entered the study. A double measure already poured. He picked up the glass and tried to steady his racing heart.

_What kind of game was Potter playing with him now?_

Draco lit the fire with a flick of his wand and started to pace before it.

It was utterly untenable. It went against nature. Draco had demon blood; he wasn't built to _cuddle_. What was Potter even thinking? It was disgusting to even consider it. Somehow Draco's instincts hadn't got the message; all he wanted to do was race back to Potter's bed. Fuck.

He swallowed the last of his brandy, then poured himself another. It was going to be a long night but he knew exactly what he needed.

Draco strode to the mantle. He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and knelt down before he could double guess himself.

"Pansy?" Draco snapped as the Floo call connected.

It took a few moments but eventually Pansy's slightly dishevelled face appeared before the fire.

"Draco? It's two in the morning; what on Earth do you want at this hour?"

"Fancy a shag?" Draco asked, he tried to look hopeful instead of despondent.

"No, not really. I'm still quite married you know. To your best friend as it happens. Don't you remember? You were at the wedding; you made a speech so lewd my mother blushed. Parkinson's don't blush, Malfoy."

"Greg is a very sharing man," Draco pointed out with one of his more charming winks.

"Not so much these days," said Pansy, although Draco didn't miss her nostalgic smile even through the flames.

"It's an emergency?" Draco tried.

"I doubt it; why don't you go shag Potter instead?"

"How do you know about that?" Draco was slightly ashamed of the squak in his voice. They hadn't been that obvious had they?

"I am the Editor in Chief for Witch Weekly, Draco. It is quite literally my job to know who shags Potter. And by all reliable and less reliable accounts that's you. Just you, as far as I can tell?"

Draco ignored the insinuation in her voice. "We're not exclusive," Draco said, as if that needed qualifying, but apparently Pansy was trying to imply it did.

"Can I have that exclusive?" Pansy leered at him.

"You certainly may not. You're no help at all," Draco told her, even though she was. Just talk to the snarky bint made him feel better.

"Was I meant to be?" she feigned innocence with no attempt at conviction, and Draco sighed.

Maybe he should just go out and get laid, that always helped. Didn't it?

* * *

The Muggle didn't taste right. His skin was too cold, nothing reached back when Draco's magic rose up as he kissed him.

Even though Draco tried to avoid introspection, he wasn't blind. The man had dark hair, pale eyes, in blue not green, but close. It was all a little obvious. Even for Draco. He called Draco by the name he'd given at the start of the night. He thought Draco's tattoo was 'cool' and asked why he didn't get it touched up, it had faded so much. He touched Draco with a kind of misguided urgency.

In the end, Draco felt almost as hungry as he had before going out.

* * *

It was one in the morning, and Harry really should give up waiting. He'd hoped the night before had been a fluke. Draco hadn't turned up at all. But that wasn't an immediate cause for alarm. Something might have come up, they did sometimes go a day without touching. Not often, but it happened. Sometimes they even went a couple of days. Never on the weekend though. Harry had told himself not to worry anyway.

He'd sent an owl the next morning. Like an idiot. No reply.

Now, hours later, here he was. A grown man pacing about his own living room waiting for a demanding knock that wasn't coming. Fuck.

Harry took longer rinsing his mug and brushing his teeth than he was proud of. He was finally giving up and heading for bed when the sudden, sharp knocking he'd been waiting for fell on his door.

* * *

Draco knew what he looked like.

Potter didn't comment.

"I'm not staying."

"Okay."

"This is a casual thing, Potter. Keep that in mind, will you?"

"Sure." Harry shrugged. "Whatever you need."

"Good, now get over here. I need to feel every bloody inch of you."

"Sure." A little bit more smug than before, but still acceptable.

* * *

Harry's skin was so hot it should have burned. He tasted like life itself, and he called Draco's name when he came. He kissed Draco's scars like he meant it. And if Draco asked very nicely, and wore the right tie pin, then he would hiss a menacing parseltongue seduction right into Draco's skin. Draco was just fucked up enough to love it. Sometimes the sparks crawling between them were even literal. It wasn't perfect, but it was bloody close.

* * *

They carried on as if nothing had interrupted them. Right through April and into early June.

"You're early?" said Harry when he opened the door. He looked almost the same as usual; he still had his jeans on but other than that Draco couldn't actually tell the difference between the shirts he wore in the street from the ones he wore to bed.

"I can leave?" Draco offered, hoping Harry wouldn't agree.

"No," Harry's answer came quicker than usual. "Come on in, I've been waiting for you anyway."

Draco entered the townhouse. It liked him, he could tell. The wards responded to his blood, even if one of the portraits still hated him.

"Um, happy birthday," said Harry, surprising Draco more with the statement than the outburst.

"Thanks?" Draco didn't mean to sound unsure, but the whole day hadn't gone to plan. His mother hadn't known what day it was. Which left him on edge even on a normal day. Today it hurt more. He wasn't sure of anything at all; maybe he shouldn't have come here. Maybe he should have just gone to the Manor and sulked there, remind it who its Master was, if he could find it in him to remind himself.

Harry shrugged. In that moment, he reminded Draco of the uncertain colt of a thing he had once been. Draco felt inexplicably guilty for his younger self.

"Am I allowed to give you a present?"

The request startled a laugh out of Draco. He still had his hands in his pockets, and he tried to relax, hoping it would relax Harry too.

"Everyone is always allowed to give me presents, Potter."

Harry smiled, a real open smile, and something in Draco snarled in possessive triumph. He ignored it.

"Well," Draco prompted.

"Oh, right." Harry scampered out of the room, leaving Draco in the narrow foyer of the former Black House. He wondered what lay behind the other doors, the ones that didn't lead to the guest suite which Potter occupied for no apparent reason.

When he returned with a narrow box Draco knew what it was at once. Despite the fact that he was shagging Harry Potter on an exceedingly regular basis, Draco was not a complete imbecile.

"You don't want to give me that," Draco said.

"You just said I could," Potter pointed out with needless sincerity.

"I didn't think you meant that. I've got a new one. It's perfectly good, better even."

"Well, it's your birthday, and I want to."

Harry handed over the box, and Draco took it because he didn't know what else to do. At least, it got his hands out of their awkward position in his pockets.

He unwrapped it.

It was, of course, his wand. His first wand. He'd cast his first real spells with this wand; he'd cast his first Crucio with it, too. He'd failed to kill Dumbledore with that wand, and Harry… well, Harry had used it to kill Voldemort.

"Was I really the master of the Elder Wand?" Draco surprised himself with the question as much as Harry.

"Must have been," Harry shrugged in his usual manner. "Maybe still are; Hermione says it's complicated."

"Right…"

"Hey," Harry spoke softer than required. It caught Draco's attention all the more for it.

Draco had hardly looked away from the 10 inches of hawthorn in his hands. When he did look, and really looked at Harry, he could see there was something else waiting there. Something he couldn't name but almost wanted to.

"I've got something else too," Harry said and held out his hand. Draco took it, damn instincts again, hard to fight even in that seemingly non-sexual situation.

Harry pulled them flush together, sometimes Draco forgot how strong Harry was even without a demonic edge.

"Is the something else your arse, Potter?" Draco asked, getting back on more familiar territory at last. "That isn't the most imaginative you've ever been."

"Could be. It's your birthday; you pick?" The way he smirked at Draco was oddly familiar. Like something from a mirror. Draco kind of liked it.

* * *

Draco hadn't meant to stay the night. Harry was almost certain of it, and even if he had he'd changed his mind now. Harry felt the moment Draco fully woke and figured out where he was. His whole body tensed up and Harry couldn't help reaching for him, offering some kind of comfort. Seeking Draco's body heat and physical contact came as naturally as breathing now. What wasn't expected was that it worked.

The moment Harry slipped his arm over Draco's waist, Draco relaxed into the touch. Harry hardly dared to breathe in case he broke the moment.

"Breakfast?" Harry offered, whispered the word into the back of Draco's neck. He loved that spot, it was covered in the finest of white blond hair and the skin was extra sensitive. "Please?"

Harry vaguely remembered planning never to beg if he could avoid it. But it didn't seem all that avoidable in the bright dawn light of the sixth of June.

"Hmm?" Draco's voice was warm and softened by sleep. "Don't mind if i do," he said, and rolled himself on top of Harry with his familiar fluid grace.

When Draco kissed him slow and sweet, Harry couldn't help but whimper into it. Summer warm and demon smooth skin rolled against his own, and Harry gave himself over to it. Draco didn't usually do slow, it seemed even more irresistible when he was like this. Nothing but lust soft edges and sensual movements.

Harry had spent a lot of time learning the difference between dream and reality. Even so this felt almost too good to be true, too much like what he'd been hoping for.

Draco moved away from Harry's lips but he didn't go far. He kissed his way down Harry's throat, each kiss leaving a new blossom of temptation in its wake. As he kissed his hands roamed further down Harry's body, still so slow it was almost agony. Everywhere they touched ached with anticipation. Draco's body dragged against Harry's skin and he inched and kissed his way lower, each kiss more promising than the last.

Even though he knew it was coming Harry gasped when Draco finally got his lips on Harry's cock. Hot and wet and so damn good, it was all he could do to hold his hips still. He didn't particularly fancy being bitten before his morning coffee, even if it was Draco doing the biting.

Somewhere in the mix of heady movement and sensation Harry noticed that Draco was holding out his free hand expectantly. Harry rushed to comply, handing over the jar of homebrewed lube that Draco had taken to leaving all over Harry's house. This one smelled like lemon and ginger, and tingled hot when it touched him. He kind of loved the stuff.

Harry moaned when Draco slid one long, perfect finger into Harry's body. Slick with the heated lube and focused on just the right angle to make Harry buck and writhe into it. Merlin, all he wanted was more of that, more of this, more of everything. More of Draco.

Just when he thought it was going to be too much, just when the aching blissful pressure coiled a little too tight inside him, Draco stopped. Harry whined, couldn't help it, this was why he always ended up begging.

"Shh," Draco shushed him and dragged himself back up Harry's body in an unwinnable tease. Their cocks brushed together with perfect friction but it didn't last. At least he kissed away the whimper still held in Harry's throat. "How do you want me?"

Those words in Draco Malfoy's pureblood drawl were enough to make Harry shiver, pavlovian in his responses by now.

"I want you… inside me, please?"

"Are you sure," Draco whispered over Harry's lips, but reached his slick hand down and dragged it over Harry's aching cock. "I could ride you until we're both screaming; would you like that, Potter?"

Harry arched into Draco's hands but held firm, shaking his head. "Not now. I want to feel you, every damned inch of you," Harry said, persistent despite the breaking need in his voice.

"Well," Draco said, smug like he was doing Harry some kind of favour. "If you insist."

Draco shifted, it felt like hardly at all, but then their hips were realigned and Harry had one leg around Draco's waist… Before he really knew what was happening Draco's cock was nudging into him. Hot and slick and a little too much and not quite enough. Harry gasped. For a moment, it burned, just the flawless edge of pain, then he was subsumed in pleasure. He was overtaken by the too good, too slow, too pure hitching roll of Draco's hips.

Harry moved and rose to meet each exacting thrust. Each unrelenting, urgent, goddam perfect thrust. Harry could feel the coil of his orgasam coming back to him, twisting up inside him and rolling through him, rolling through him as Draco rolled with him. Harry thought he might be ripped apart by it, not by the utter fullness, but by everything else. By what he felt as it happened, the way it blistered through his skin and overcame him all at once but never ending. The way he came with a shuddering gasp and Draco's name on his lips. The way Draco bit his lip just right and just distracting him from falling forever.

Most of all, he thought he might shatter on the give and take flow of the magic between them. He felt it, and he'd felt it before but this time he was looking for it and he knew it, when Draco came, with a bitten off gasp, he gave something back. Harry felt the magic rush through him and knew, knew for sure, that it wasn't just his. It was cooler than his own, more precise yet tingling, like the ginger and lemon, like Draco's sense of humour. Like Draco. Harry thought he might sob from the immediacy and the overwhelming consequence of it all.

Draco stopped him, stopped his lips with a kiss. Harry didn't know if Draco felt it too; he was too afraid to ask, but for a moment there he thought maybe he'd never have to ask again.

* * *

Draco sleeps over a lot after that. They don't talk about it. It's safer that way.

* * *

Harry got called away on a mission at the end of June. They said he would be at least a week, maybe longer. There was a heatwave, too, and no one thought it would let up anytime soon; neither the Muggles' meteormancers, or whatever they're called, nor their own wizarding caelumancers.

Potter gave Draco tentative permission to shag about while he was gone. Draco sneered and pretended he didn't need it. He was shocked to realise, however, that he kind of wanted it. He quite literally couldn't cast magic if he went too long without getting laid. Eventually his body would start eating its own magic, and he would probably die. It goes against his very nature to need permission for anything, but particularly for that.

He was more shocked when Harry asked to watch. He had a pensieve of course, and maybe Draco should, maybe, just maybe, try and pull some light haired witches or Muggle girls and maybe, just maybe, make a real show of it? Draco hadn't refused.

In fact, Harry had been looking quite tempting, perched on his kitchen counter, when he made the offer. Draco had walked across and kissed him, hard, because it was that or stop breathing, and Draco was rather fond of breathing. Especially when it meant more time alive to kiss Harry Potter.

* * *

She said her name was Anna.

She had sandy blonde hair, dark eyes, and soft skin, for a Muggle. He told her to call him Harry. She played soccer for her university team, which was like muggle Quidditch, and her body showed the signs of her athletics. Her perfume smelled like roses, and her sweat was a little too sweet.

She asked where he was from and didn't believe him when he said Wiltshire, even though it was true for once. He gave in; he used to be used to it, and said "it's Wiltshire, but by way of France."

She liked that and asked him to speak to her in French.

He did so, telling her all about his famous boyfriend who would love every inch of her even as he nuzzled into her neck. He wondered if that's the sort of thing Harry said to him in parseltongue.

"Copain?" she asked, stopping him mid-nibbling kiss. "Doesn't that mean girlfriend?"

He could deny it, she was thinking of _la copine_ , not _le copain_ , if he were being technical. Or he could answer her then just refuse to show Potter the memory when he returned. But he left it too long before going out, and he was half-starved for contact, so he blamed it on that when he answered. His voice was still in the smoky register he knew would work, it always did.

"No," he said, "it means boyfriend, is that a problem?"

Her eyes went comically wide. "And he's okay with this?"

"Mhm, more than okay with it, I think," Draco said, more honestly than he intended. "He'll want every detail."

"Oh, alright then, that's kind of hot — I suppose."

Yes, Draco was inclined to agree with her; it kind of was.

* * *

Harry had to wonder if the whole incubi thing was catching. Hermione had assured him it was not. It was brought about by very old blood magic, and it only came out in the old bloodlines. And it always came out on their coming of age. Harry would have known long before now; he wouldn't have been able to help it.

It didn't stop him wondering though. The moment he got home he dumped his bag in the foyer, leaving it for Kreacher, and took up pacing in front of his Floo. His skin itched to be touched, and he was seriously considering misappropriating Auror resources to find Draco's London address. The only thing that stopped him doing so was the cold realisation that he didn't already know it.

He waited another five minutes before the tension got too much and he wrote an owl. He sent the note with Kreacher to the public owlery; he still wasn't ready for an owl of his own and none of his friends were kind enough not to mention it.

Twenty four minutes after Kreacher left with the owl Draco was standing on Harry's doorstep. His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been in a rush. Harry was overcome with the kind of affection he'd never expected to feel for a Malfoy. The kind of affection that made him want to hold on and never let go, and that had nothing to do with the itch under his skin or how good the sex was.

Luckily, Draco's impulses saved them both from any further uncomfortable revelations. He didn't even wait for the door to close before he was kissing Harry like life itself. He still tasted like ice and clarity, and Harry still couldn't get enough of him.

* * *

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said as he thumped himself down on the edge of Harry's desk. "You've really got to get over this thing you have for blond blokes, even the _Prophet_ thinks this one looks like Malfoy!"

Ron dropped the paper on top of the file Harry wasn't really reading anyway.

On the page a grainy, but recognisable image of Harry's house was shown with an enlarged inset which was almost certainly Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy snogging on Harry's frontstep. Bugger. Harry really should have invested in those new camera cloaking wards when Bill had recommended them. He kept meaning to get it sorted, but other things kept coming up.

 _Things like Draco Malfoy's cock_ , an unhelpful part of Harry's brain reminded him.

"I would have thought shagging the actual Malfoy at Luna's would have got it out of your system," Ron continued, not paying much attention to the lack of blood in Harry's cheeks.

"Well," Harry said, now was as good as never. "That actually, um, is Malfoy."

"Oh," said Ron. And then, because he was a good mate when it came down to it, "Right. That's been going on while then, has it?"

"Yep," said Harry. Still not really wanting to have this conversation.

"Serious?" asked Ron.

"Hopefully?" said Harry, just a little bit confused but mostly certain at this point.

"Is he still… you know?" Ron made a halfhearted hand motion which Harry didn't even try to interpret.

"Being an incubus doesn't go away, Ron," Harry teased. "And, yeah, he is, obviously."

Ron surprised Harry by skipping straight to asking, "What's that like then?"

"Intense," said Harry, because neither of them really wanted him to go into detail. Surely.

"Right then," said Ron. "You, ah, bringing him to mum's for your birthday then?"

Harry was particularly proud that Ron hardly even winced when he asked.

"I don't think anyone's ready to try that," said Harry, laughing at the mere idea of Ginny and Draco at the same table. "Maybe Christmas?"

"Sure, right…" Ron considered the implications for a minute. "You know him and Charlie, you know… um, once…"

Harry hadn't known that, but it was, well... that was far from an unwelcome image. Harry had probably always had a slight crush on Charlie, who wouldn't, and the idea of him and Draco was a bit overwhelmingly hot really. Harry wondered idly if he could convince Draco to share the memory.

"Oh gross," Ron's voice cut into Harry's momentary daydream. "That's my big brother you're going all glass-eyed over. I was warning you, not inspiring you. Ugh. I'm going to go do work."

Harry grinned at his friend, and then, because he'd been spending too much time around Draco he winked. Just to watch Ron wince and run away like the big tough Auror he was.

* * *

July thirty-first had never been a particularly important date for Draco in the past. Even as a schoolboy, it had marked only the end of one hot month of Harry Potter-less freedom, with another month yet of indulgence before the Hogwarts year started again on September first.

He had been somewhat aware that it was Potter's birthday, but away from school and away from Potter's taunting presence, that had never seemed all that important.

This year would be different. Quite the opposite in fact.

Harry had sent him owls on a number of occasions, and it wasn't like Draco didn't know Harry's address. He'd just never felt the need to contact Harry in a way that wouldn't lead to almost immediate physical contact. It was part of why he had always left it so late to drop in on Potter back when they first started this thing. He had still been scared to reach out in case his hand, metaphorical or literal, was rejected yet again.

Even with his slightly improved confidence in all matters Potter, he still dashed the note off in what would look like a rush, despite his careful pre-planning. He didn't want to seem overeager. It was a simple thing. An explicit invitation, a suggested time, and his Kensington address. Just enough to get Harry though the wards and up to his doorstep. The rest was all on Potter. And maybe a tiny bit on Draco. He tried not to fret, and he certainly didn't think about any of the symbolism.

When there was no immediate reply, Draco considered drinking himself into oblivion instead of fucking Potter into it. Realising that he was potentially being a tiny bit over dramatic, he refrained and tried to occupy himself with other things.

He knew Harry had a number of other commitments that day. He had even noticed that Harry went to some trouble to let Draco know about them. First he was working, of all things, and all day too — because apparently he wasn't even smart enough to pull the Saviour card to get his own birthday off work. Then, he was dining with the Weasleys, more's the pity for everyone involved. So really, expecting him any time before ten was ridiculous. That didn't make the wait any easier.

Draco pretended to read or paced, while Mopsy flinched and polished to within an inch of her life. Draco possibly shouldn't have told her exactly whom he had invited for supper. She was bad enough about the idea of visitors at all, and Potter in general. The combination might be going to overheat her little elf brain. At least he hadn't let her cook. He wasn't certain that either he or Harry would be eating food, and if that happened she might take it personally. Good house elves were hard to find, and Draco wasn't about to risk his committing seppuku over a few unconsumed evening sandwiches. He hadn't been able to stop the 'just in case, master,' baking efforts. He had also allowed her to fetch something from the new Thai Wizarding place on Diagon Alley; Harry liked it and Mopsy didn't like the idea of not feeding 'noble visitors'. Her words, not Draco's.

When a surprisingly strident knock finally came just after ten, Draco was at last able to relax. He answered the door himself, seeing as it wasn't done to leave it to the house elves, and he didn't have any human servants for his safety as much as theirs. He held his glass of dragon-fired brandy carefully, well aware of how Harry reacted to the mere thought of Draco's hands by now.

He was taken aback, to say the least, when his most devilish smile was utterly wasted on Ron bloody Weasley.

"What do you want?" Draco said by way of greeting.

"Put a sock in it Malfoy. Where's Harry?"

"Not here?" Draco said, trying to put all of his disdain into two words, and not quite meaning for it to sound like a question.

He hadn't even known Harry had told the damn Weasel about their ongoing liaisons being, well, ongoing. Part of him was gratified, but the rest was suddenly very suspicious. And, damn him, concerned. He didn't like having uniformed Aurors on his doorstep, no matter whose friends they were. And he really didn't like the idea that no one knew where Harry Potter was. Someone always knew where Harry Potter was.

Weasley huffed but took him at his word. The 'for now' was just as unspoken.

"Well, get him to owl me if he turns up, okay?" Weasley handed Draco a small Auror issue business card. He didn't even try to hide the fact he was looking over Draco's shoulder before he turned to leave.

"Wait, Weasley," Draco found himself calling the Auror back despite himself. "How long has Ha- um, Potter been missing?"

"A few hours, he was due at the Burrow but didn't show. First we thought he was just late, with you again, but… well. It's not official yet but I'm worried." Weasley gave Draco a speculative look and frowned at what he found. "You're worried too, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Draco scoffed, but the concern was all there in his tone. Still, he almost let Weasley leave with nothing more said. Almost.

"Right," Weasley looked about as sceptical about Draco's words as Draco would felt.

After a long pause, in which Weasley almost left, Draco made himself say it. "What if I might have a way to find him?"

"We've tried a Point-me and Auror tracers; we're not idiots, Malfoy."

Draco was inclined to disagree but held his tongue in favour of finding Harry. It really would be just the git's luck to end up in some kind of dire trouble on his own sodding birthday. Draco had spent the last few months steadfastly ignoring his instinctual reactions to Harry. But if ever there was a moment to admit to them, it was now. If what he secretly suspected was true, then he might be the only one who could locate their missing Deputy Head Auror.

"I am sure you have tried everything at your disposal, Weasley. But you didn't have me at your disposal, in fact, you still don't, but I'm willing to try. If the Auror department is willing to let me do so, that is?"

Weasley looked indecisive for a moment, then said, "Fine, what do you need?"

"Nothing," Draco admitted. He put down his glass on the hall table and summoned his hawthorn wand from it's place in the formal parlour. Then he stepped out into the hallway. He flicked his white oak wand to lock the door behind him and led Weasley out of his building and onto the street.

Then, all it took was a hand to hawthorn and a little focus.

Sex magic has always had a certain bonding quality. It leant itself to certain rituals and magics more than others. It was why Draco had never been a good torturer, even on pain of his own death. It was also why he was an excellent Occlumens and had a natural affinity for fixing things. His magic was, by its nature, creative and reinforcing. It built things and made things rather than destroying them. Both physical things and protective barriers, shields and charms and emotional magics had always been and always would be his forte. 

It was also why every incubus or succubus had an instinctual desire to spread their magic and their conquests a little thin. Spend too much time bathing in another being's magic and it tended to rub off. Open the connection too wide and too often and eventually you wouldn't be able to close it, even if you wanted to.

Draco had been trying not to think about it.

Once he acknowledged the bond however, it was easy to follow it. Wherever he was, Harry was weakened, which was concerning, and quite possibly drugged which was more so.

Draco made the mistake of telling Weasley about Harry's current state.

"How do you know?" Weasley asked, snarkily and distrustfully enough that Draco remembered why he didn't like the twit.

"Because I can," Draco snarked back, not wanting to waste his focus. Also, not wanting to tell the Weasel what he seemed to have done to Potter before he had a chance to tell Potter himself. Baring his slightly demonic heart once would be more than enough, thank you very much.

Draco decided against further conversation, and lead the way his instincts pulled him instead.

* * *

"You're sure he's in there?" Weasel whispered.

"Quite," said Draco, not bothering to whisper, but covering his own confusion with snark. It was a comfortable default.

They were standing on a busy Muggle street outside what was, probably, a fairly fashionable little bistro. Not exactly what Draco would have considered a neo-Death Eater hideaway. But then again, Draco never had been very good at being an actual Death Eater, when it came right down to it.

It was Draco who noticed Harry first. Sitting at a table in the window sharing dessert with a dark haired witch who Draco didn't recognise. Why on Earth would Potter not tell him if he had a date? Hell, Draco was pretty sure at this point that Harry would just invite him along.

Realisation hit Draco like an ice cold bludger to the stomach. In that moment, it took every ounce of self-control he had ever learned to hold on to his instinctual magic and not rip the whole block to splinters.

* * *

Lucile was perfect.

Harry wasn't sure how he had never noticed that before, with her dark curly hair and the adorable little gap in her front teeth. Perfect. She wasn't exactly Harry's usual type, he was somewhat aware that his usual type was taller, blonder, and more of a bloke, but none of that mattered with Lucile.

She had worked in the Auror Office as a secretary for over a year and a half. Before today, Harry had trouble remembering her name, which was odd. He had only ever thought her vaguely cute in passing, before today, which was ridiculous because she was the most beautiful and perfect and utterly irresistible witch he'd ever seen. Something inside him twisted uncomfortably at that thought, but he ignored it.

How hadn't he seen her before? Really seen her.

Lucile had pointed out how adorable their babies were going to be, several times over dinner. Harry really did have to agree. Lucile wasn't just beautiful; she was brilliant too. And perfect. Quite, quite perfect.

Harry was just about to tell Lucile how perfect she was again, when he spotted a flash of white blond hair and a commotion entering the restaurant.

"Malfoy?"

"No," Lucile snapped, grabbing his hand and his attention. "You're far too good for that Death Eater, Harry. You have to know that, don't you, darling?"

Harry nodded, even though he wasn't sure. Lucile was perfect and beautiful and brilliant, of course, but somehow he wasn't quite sure about her statement. It didn't quite ring true in his chest. In fact, there was something deep inside him that ached at the implication.

"I…" Harry started to speak, but he never found out what he was, because then Draco was standing in front of their table. With a slightly flustered Ron, of all people, close on his heels. "Draco?"

"Well spotted, you utter imbecile."

Harry blinked up at him, the candle light really did look very fetching in his sleek blond hair. He felt a little foggy, but he didn't really mind Malfoy insulting him. It was kind of nice actually.

"Don't you talk to him like—"

"Oh, you shut up you bint. You are so very under arrest," Draco snapped, interrupting Lucile mid-defence. Harry liked that Lucile jumped to his defence, of course, it was nice of her, but not really necessary.

"You can't arrest people for having dinner, Malfoy," said Ron wearily. "Actually, _you_ can't arrest anybody. You're not an Auror."

"But you are," Draco pointed out. "And you should probably arrest that witch. She did just kidnap Harry Potter!"

Ron sighed, then looked at Harry for help. Actually, Ron looked kind of fed up, which wasn't very nice, it wasn't Harry's fault. Was it?

"She didn't kidnap me?" said Harry. Why wasn't he sure about that?

"See…" Lucile started to defend herself this time but was cut short by the Malfoy glare. She was very brave for a… actually Harry couldn't even remember what house she was in at school. He should probably know that, if she was to be the mother of his future children. She had suggested naming them after his parents, which was nice of her. She was very nice, was Lucile.

"You're very nice," Harry told Lucile, in case she didn't know.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Draco snapped. Then he grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and dragged him to his feet, and kissed him, right there in the middle of the restaurant.

Harry couldn't help the way his body responded, he arched into Draco and got his own hand on Draco's robes, and the other in Draco's hair.

Harry was aware of Lucile crying out in dismay in the background, but it didn't really matter right then. All that mattered was the was Draco kissed him, the taste of ice and magic on Draco's tongue. The way Draco pulled him close like he never wanted to let go seemed like the best thing to focus on, really.

Ron coughed and Harry came back to himself all at once.

He broke the kiss but couldn't quite break away from Draco. There were a lot of shocked Muggles staring at them. It didn't help that Draco was smirking at him in a way that tempted Harry to break the Statute of Secrecy, and several other wizarding laws, just to apparate them directly to his bedroom.

"We, um probably should arrest her, Ron." Harry found his voice. "Sorry Lucile, that love potion really is quite illegal."

"A love potion, Potter, really?" said Draco, but he didn't let Harry go so he wasn't going to complain too much.

Harry shrugged.

"It was birthday cake," Harry said sadly. "I really like birthday cake."

Or he had, before today.

Actually, if it led to Draco kissing him like that again, maybe Harry would find it in himself to forgive both birthday cake and Lucile. It really had been one hell of a snog. And from the way Draco was still looking at him, Harry suspected there was a lot more like it to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love. Please comment here or on [livejournal](http://hp-creatures.livejournal.com/277675.html) for the author to see. Author will remain anonymous until reveals later this month!


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